a little sassiness, a little satire and the search for satisfaction

Some days…

Hey there, you. How’s the week treating you? It’s been a long week here but I have made it through. Just. Kinda. If you didn’t laugh you’d cry, right?

SO I choose to try and stay positive and see the good bits about it. Even tonight, when I am beside myself, feeling like absolute fucking shit. Some days it feels impossible to keep trudging through the shit storm that is life.

Today I woke feeling dread, anxiety sitting in my chest, sadness in the pit of my stomach. Its Easter and I really tried to keep it all positive for the kids. But the girl child and I were both a little off all day. See, today was injection day. Today was the day that I knew, from the second I woke up, that this evening I would have to hold that little girl down and inject her with medicine that ‘could’ help her to feel better, the ‘could’ ease her pain. Maybe, if it works.

I feel like a special kind of asshole. Seeing my kid in pain everyday, knowing that she is hurting just to get the basic shit done… knowing that it was bad before we even knew what it was and for a long time I told her it was just growing pains and it would get better.

Once a week I give that kid a low dose of a drug that is used to treat cancer. Seriously. And then once a fortnight I inject her with what is essentially a different kind of poison that ‘could’ stop her body from attacking itself. Once a fortnight I hold that kid down so that she cant swat me away and stop me from delivering the injection that ‘could’ help her feel better, knowing that the injection itself hurts her. Knowing that she is going to feel like utter shit for the 4 or 5 days following. Knowing that the medications are creating a kind of brain fog that completely fuzzes her out enough that she has to leave herself notes everywhere just to remember what the hell she needs to do to get through the bare minimum each day.

This kid who has amazing potential, who has known what she wanted to do with her life since she was just 8 years old, this kid who gives it her all every single day. This kid who is smart enough to have done her own research and knows what is coming if she doesn’t let me give her that injection, and if she doesn’t take the tablets that make her want to crawl into bed and never get out again. This kid who dreads the injection and the tablets and cops it, kicking and crying, because she just wants to feel better. And then apologizes to me, because she knows it makes me sad.